


Earthbound

by SpazeCat



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, M/M, Prostitute/Stripper AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3979357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpazeCat/pseuds/SpazeCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has the temper of a summer storm and when he dances, he is a bluejay balancing on a withering tightrope. He is careful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flightless

He has the temper of a summer storm and when he dances, he is a bluejay balancing on a withering tightrope. He is careful. 

“Hey there, pretty boy.” He says. “Interested in a dance?” He says. Clipped wings, he twirls the way teacups spin at carnivals. He smiles like a cheshire and he breaks hearts exactly the way you would expect a sweet faced angel to. His name is _sweetheart._ His name is _darling_ and _sweet cheeks_ and _babydoll._ His name is what you pay and his body is a chapel you can defile as long as you have the coin to give. But he owns the melody just as much as he’ll begin to own your heart and he’ll have whatever he wants. And even though he can’t spread his wings of concrete and steel, it’s not so bad. 

The whole room is a sea of grey faces bobbing to the sound of flooding music. The entirety of the ocean is drowning and they don’t know it. The smell of alcohol and rough sex is raw in the air, curling like white smoke. They are addicted, attach their needles and wires to someone else’s morphine, feed them the lies and sincerity of a politician and when every silver and copper dime is spent, throw them back to the sharks. This is what it feels like to be god. 

Everyone wants to be here. Here rather than out there. Out there where the streets are twisted metal, train tracks veering off the road and at wake, the epilogue of a hurricane would have been kinder. The alleyways are full of the monsters we were all afraid of when we were children, waiting for us to wander off the criss-crossed path into their hungry jaws, snap us in two the way the city has crumbled. This isn’t Atlantis but the city is drowning. 

He is a young fledgling in a sinking city and it doesn’t bother him as it should. But tonight; the way the hands grab at him and the lips brush against his neck makes him feel earthbound with a vengeance he can't shake. He’s ready to retreat for the night when he feels familiar hands entangled around his waist. He hums softly and turns, pressing back against his captor like wet cement. “Geoff.” He breathes, relief leaving his lips like evaporating smoke. When Geoff chuckles, it’s a slow rumble that reminds Michael rolling thunderstorms. Geoff with his baby blues and thick mustache that curls at the corners the way leaves curl in the autumn. Wonderful Geoff who comes not often enough. _“Geoff.”_ He repeats. 

“Yes, princess?” and Geoff is the moon and stars that are gone from the barren skies and Michael doesn’t know how to tell Geoff, “if I could, I would always be your princess and you wouldn’t have to pay a cent,” so instead, he lets Geoff lead him to one of the familiar back rooms where it is dim enough for him to pretend they’re making love when Geoff strips him, loves him hard against the wall, again in the bed where you can hear the frame crack, he lets Geoff use him, abuse him.

Michael kisses him roughly, and where Geoff is more like the beginnings of a dust storm than a soft breeze, Michael’s heart sings out lullabies of “I don’t ever want to let go,” and “please hold me for forever,” and even though he can feel- practically _hear_ his heart thumping in his chest like a whole chorus of drums and off-key instruments, he’s not sure Geoff ever hears. When they’re well and spent, Michael’s not sure whether to feel clean or filthy and Geoff presses a kiss to his curls, murmuring “good boy,” in that god-commanding voice of his. “I’ll see you next week,” he says, and Michael’s heart clenches, squeezing against his chest and he feels like he’s suffocating. He wants to say “don’t go” but the words die in his throat and he is flightless. It’s not so bad. Remember, it’s not so bad. 

And he has the temper of a dying storm and when he dances, he wobbles on the tightrope and he has to remember there’s no one to catch him. He wants to say “I love you enough to quit,” but when Geoff leaves a generous tip on the bedside table, he is silent.


	2. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin dances the way you fall in love. He is an exquisite little thing, made of porcelain and the stuff of constellations you can only ever see in cracked looking glasses. He was made for picking up broken pieces.

Gavin dances the way you fall in love. He is an exquisite little thing, made of porcelain and the stuff of constellations you can only ever see in cracked looking glasses. He was made for picking up broken pieces.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but Michael won’t move. Michael’s still stained with lipstick and the streaks of someone else’s expense and the air is smoky and Gavin has to choke down the urge to throw up. He can’t stand seeing Michael like this.

And the club is almost empty now and the sun is rising above the wasted city and Michael is still where Geoff left him. 

Michael breathes with lungs filled with gasoline and soot from the city. The city is clouded in smog and the air is thick. He knows they’re not clean. Not Michael. Not Gavin. 

Gavin sits on the edge of the bed, sea grass heels clicking as he peels them off. He gets comfortable and gently shakes Michael’s shoulder. “Michael,” he says. The air still smells like sex and alcohol. It’s intoxicating and Gavin tries not to think of Geoff debauching Michael, ruining him. Tries not to feel jealous.

Because Gavin thinks Michael’s hung the moon, sees him as the stars and skies suspended in the expanse of space. Doesn’t know how to tell Michael “please don’t be sad,” the same way he can’t say “I want you happy,” because he knows Michael sees someone else’s broader horizons and brighter sunsets. Not Gavin’s half-full moon, never Gavin. Abandoned Gavin. Nowhere-else-to-go Gavin. Gavin with the wiry hair spun of hickory and eyes of lost treasure. Not when Michael’s already found his glimmering sapphires in the gaze of someone else.

His heart aches. But he thinks about how Michael must ache exactly the same way, and they are two parts of the same boat that’s fighting to keep afloat. They’re sinking.

It feels like decades later when Michael finally moves with a groan, and Gavin croons encouragingly, willing for Michael to rise from the ashes of first love and return to the world of the living. Gavin takes care of Michael the way Michael wishes Geoff would and Michael cries the way storms rock when they can’t seem to settle.

And Gavin holds Michael like they’re slow dancing and doesn’t say anything when Michael wipes his wet tears on Gavin, leaves damp traces like morning dew. They link fingers. Michael smells like cinnamon, Gavin thinks. The cities are falling ash and the earth is crumbling into the ocean and they are still alive. Gavin breathes in. Michael breathes out. Heavy lungs and heavier air. They are never quite synchronized.

And the sun has already risen high above the rotting world and the noise of music still echoes off the walls as if they’re trying to escape. Gavin tries to keep his head up the way his mother once taught him before he was tossed in the gutter, but he finds himself sinking below the waves.

“I'm sorry,” Michael whispers over the humming buzz of the music. Gavin squeezes his hand and he is drowning. He says “it's okay” the way he says “I love you” and when Michael lets go of his hand, Gavin doesn't cry.

He was made for picking up broken pieces.


End file.
